by Aaron Crash
Cebor touched his chest. “My condolences. We’ve all been following StormCry’s town crier, and we get bulletins from the Majestrial’s Alumni Consortium. Perhaps, after this business with Gulnash has been taken care of, there are other issues that will find resolutions as well.”
It was flowery language, to be sure, but the Ohlyrran king was talking about Ymir.
Della kept a mask on her face, but she thought maybe these three had ties to the Midnight Guild. They talked of keeping the world static, and they had no love for Ymir, nor for Gulnash. The Midnight Guild wanted to stop a new age from dawning on Thera, and they would kill to keep the status quo. They eliminated threats before they could become threats.
But could a king, a chieftainess, and the most powerful woman in Josentown be involved in the secret guild?
Della smiled casually. “Sometimes I wish the long peaceful night of the Age of Separation would never end. I don’t look forward to the dawning of a new age.”
“Very nicely put,” Auntie Jia said with the fakest of smiles.
Ghrinna grunted laughter, but her eyes were on Della. Cebor’s face showed nothing. That damn cuff worked too well.
Della nodded at them. “Perhaps we four could talk more about the future of the world. As the Princept of the Magisterial Collegium Universitas, I am dedicated to preserving not just this school, but the peace and prosperity of Thera as well.”
Auntie Jia’s gaze burned into her. “Yes, Princept, we should talk more.”
There was a bustle at the front of the room, and in walked Gulnash, alone, in a loincloth. He didn’t have his mace, but he had a sheathed sword at his side. His bare feet slapped the polished wood as he went to the buffet table. On his left hand was his bone Focus ring.
The Betrayer had arrived. And he was looking for trouble.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME,” Della said and hurried over to confront Gulnash. She didn’t have her sword, but she had her Focus ring and her spells. She’d told the Betrayer he wasn’t invited to the reception, yet here he was.
She had to smile at her own foolishness. He’d murdered Valarenza in cold blood. Ignoring her request? This fucking monster wouldn’t care.
Gulnash grabbed a whole roasted bird, as big as his head, and ripped off flesh from the breast. He turned to survey the room.
Della marched up to him. “You’re leaving. Now.”
The Betrayer ignored her. He took up a pitcher of beer, and so, with bird in one hand, pitcher in the other, he marched over to the trio, the three who might just be a part of the Midnight Guild.
Why them?
Why this display?
Della hurried back to Auntie Jia, Ghrinna, and Cebor.
Gulnash guzzled from the pitcher, and the beer splashed down his chest and onto the floor. He then mashed the bird breast into his face, chewing. Mouth half filled, he leered at Ghrinna. “So, Shlak’s bitch of a ptari. I expected you to be prettier. But you’re old, so very old.”
“And you are half naked,” Auntie Jia said archly.
The Betrayer sloshed the pitcher at the old shrew. “Jiabelle Josen of the Swamp Coast. When my horde gets to you, we’ll burn you witches out of your blackwater huts. We’ll rape the pretty ones and kill the ugly ones. You won’t survive, bitch of a Josen. Your niece, though, the Jenny one, has promise.”
Everyone in the party had stopped to stare at the Betrayer, towering over the three.
Della was taking too long to go through her options, she knew that, but she was also fascinated by the spectacle. And why was Gulnash talking to those three in particular?
The Betrayer smirked at Cebor. “And then we have the elf king. Not much of a king at all. A sexless king of trees, afraid of his own cock.”
“Enough!” Della thundered. “I am the host of the Kurzig Durgha. By the bloody roots of the Tree of Life, by the warrior’s bloody code, you were not invited to this reception. You will leave, now, or your life is forfeit. As the host of the Kurzig Durgha, I have spoken. Fight and die!”
Every orc in the room was programmed to shout after her, “Fight and die!”
Della then cast spells from all four of the Studiae Magica. “Jelu, ignis, caelum, lutum, ignarum!” Rock armor formed over her elegant gown as a dagger of flame filled her right hand and a dagger of ice grew from her left. Lightning crowned her head.
Gulnash grinned. “I am sorry, host, to offend you.” He dropped the pitcher and the bird onto the floor. He turned to address the entire room. “You hide behind your rules, your rituals, and your finery. You all will know my touch in the end. You all will fall before me, your new vempor, who is destined to rule! You say fight and die! But I say I’m gonna fuck death in her sweet, tight asshole. I’m going to fight and live for-fucking-ever!”
He struck Ghrinna’s droopy butt and laughed.
Shlak drew his sword, but Urag and Pargar, the other chieftains, were there to stop him.
Gulnash then strode out.
Della dispelled the magic covering her.
She felt her legs trembling. Gulnash had gone directly to face three of the most powerful people in the room, people who Della suspected of being a part of the Midnight Guild. Others were whispering as well, wondering about the strange display and how much of an ass Gulnash the Betrayer had made of himself.
Others murmured their fear.
Della had her own fears, and it wasn’t about the arrogance of some orc bandit, but what that bandit might do with the resources of the Midnight Guild. And Gulnash might already be making secret deals with Shlak, Ghrinna’s husband. Was he part of the secret organization as well?
Della wanted to process what she’d learned, but it was impossible. She had to soothe the room, which she did, while Tori and the kitchen staff cleaned Gulnash’s mess up.
The Princept was forced to suffer through the party, to smile, and to assure everyone they were safe, that the rules of the Kurzig Durgha would be followed upon pain of death.
She chatted with the Gruul chieftains, though that was far more tedious since those warriors merely wanted to beat their chests and promise that they would be the one to cut Gulnash’s head from his shoulders. Either them personally, since all three chieftains would be fighting in their Gungarrs, or the stalwart warriors that accompanied them.
It sounded like a lot of blather to Della because she was fairly certain that her Gungarr had the best warriors on Thera, if not the world. Between herself, Ymir, Gatha, and, oddly enough, Charibda, it would be their cohort that would do the killing.
It was late when she finally managed to talk with the blue-haired fairy, who was old enough to have crow’s-feet around her eyes yet still talked in a silly banter and spent a great deal of time cupping her tiny tits or running a hand over her own shapely ass.
They talked about the taxes Old Ironbound would have to pay to the guild, for ticket sales, for the sales of food and drink, and other income. But Della wasn’t concerned about that. Even paying the guild, Old Ironbound would be making a tidy profit.
Della then told Dillyday about the arena that was ready for both attendees and combatants on the scenic western cliffs of the Flow Field. Part of the stadium was held up by metal struts, reinforced by Form magic, off the cliffs of the cape itself. The view of the Weeping Sea from the top deck was magical.
The conversation wasn’t anything unexpected until Dillyday paused. “There will be sweet cream, I hear. But not just any sweet cream, but the creamy cream cream made with the xocalati. Such a thing, and with new magic to keep it cold, is a thrilly to this old Dilly.”
This sounded like Ymir’s business. The Princept couldn’t admit that she had no idea about this special treat. She’d had the xoca kaif, however, and it was delicious.
Then the Princept realized what was really going on with the fairy. Della had limited herself to two glasses of wine, so she was in full possession of her faculties. She’d already played two dangerous games at the elegant party, so she decided
to play a third. “I think you mean one of my scholars, a shop she works in. The Paradise Tree. Ziziva. Another of the Fayee is working with her, Zorynda Gold. Yes, I think they are making the sweet cream.”
Dillyday’s smile was a bit too bright. Her wings fluttered, sending a sweet dust into the air. Most of the guests had left, and the kitchen staff was cleaning up, including Toriah Welldeep.
Della felt a bit dizzy, but she gripped her mind.
Dillyday chattered away. “Fairies love the sweets, sweetie, sweet, and we’re watching that business at The Paradise Tree. This xocalati is worth a fortune and that shop sells a xoca that is filled with lust. Am I wrong, delicious Della?”
“The Amora Xoca.” Della felt so light-headed. She needed to excuse herself, and get to her room and her bed. She needed sleep without dreams of orgies or Sarina Sia tempting her. “Yes, we have a special candy here. If you’ll excuse me...I’m not feeling so well.”
Dillyday got a concerned look on her face. “Yes, yes, you should go to beddy-bye. We do appreciate your efforts here, pretty Princept. We like what you are doing, and how you are doing it, and we expect great things from this big old school. Great things. Sweet things.”
Della bowed and gave Tori her wineglass.
“Are you all right, Princept?” the sweet, freckled dwab asked.
“Yes, yes, Miss Welldeep.” The Princept smiled weakly and managed to get to the Librarium. She swept herself up and floated upward with a Moons spell. She normally would’ve walked up the six flights of stairs to get the extra exercise, but not that night.
She drifted up, then abruptly stopped her ascent. For a second, she saw Gulnash the Betrayer, in his loincloth, paging through a book on the fifth level. He was near where there had once been a secret passageway to her room. That had long been closed because Ymir had used it to sneak into her chamber...for a good cause...but still. Gulnash was perusing the works of Octovato, a sorcerer and mathematician who’d had an obsession with the number eight. Ymir had shown such interest in those books.
Della flew down to capture the villain, to demand to know why he was in her Librarium, when she heard the sound of a coin falling on stone. A second later? The Gruul villain was gone.
Had she imagined it? Or had she been ensorcelled? She landed on the fifth floor and cast a Flow spell. “Jelu jelarum.” Again, she heard the sound of a coin falling. Then, nothing. Her magical sight was not working. The smell of an orc male, though, lingered.
Gulnash was up to something. Or was she just imagining things?
Della sighed. So much had happened that night, and she had no one she could confide in. That wasn’t true. She did have two people, one living, one dead.
She and Ymir had fought the Midnight Guild before, and they’d had to deal with fairies before. He might be of some help.
Then her heart turned to ice. What if Ymir’s women, maybe even Ymir himself, were part of the Midnight Guild? It was very convenient that the three powerful rulers were connected to Ymir’s outcast princesses.
No. It couldn’t be. Della tried to toss away the thought but couldn’t.
If she couldn’t trust Ymir, could she trust Sarina Sia? Her ghost was there, in the shadows, and her counsel might prove priceless in this matter. But the ghost had been so mysterious, so full of sexual energy, rather than providing any useful information.
In her room, Della stripped and fell into her bed without cleaning her teeth or washing her face. She had a single thought before she passed out. Dillyday had mentioned a mysterious “we,” and Della was certain it wasn’t the Undergem Guild. Could it be the Midnight Guild?
That didn’t feel right. It seemed as if all sorts of villains had descended on Old Ironbound at the worst time possible.
And there she was, in the middle of any number of treacheries, including one that involved Ymir.
If he had forged more Akkiric Rings, she would have to kill him. She’d made the threat after he crafted the Black Ice Ring. She would have to follow through. And yet, was that playing into the hands of the Midnight Guild and the other forces that wanted Ymir dead?
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE MONDAY BEFORE THE Kurzig Durgha, Charibda sat on her bed, holding her trident, weary after another day of training.
She was very disappointed that her mother couldn’t attend the tournament. There were issues with certain merfolk families across the Weeping Sea. Trouble between the BuBano, Brinnib, and Murderbo had become critical. There was a chance that the Sorrow Coast Aquaterreb families might be drawn into a war, and Beryl Delphino was doing everything she could to stop that from happening.
However, Charibda and her mother had been sending sand letters back and forth, and the Ocean Mother Divine of the Delphino family was both worried sick over her daughter and hopeful that an Aquaterrebian warrior could make a difference in the coming conflict. There were dignitaries from a few of the families who would be there to represent the Aquaterreb, which included a few cousins who Charibda hated with a passion.
Charibda knew about hate. Everyone at Old Ironbound still loathed her. No one knew that she would be fighting on Old Ironbound’s Gungarr. So, to other scholars, everything was the same.
For the mermaid princess, however, things were different. Her days were fighting in the mornings, and swimming in the afternoons, conditioning herself and exhausting herself. She’d then run along empty beaches far to the south for hours on end. This was to get her lungs accustomed to the thin air. Then it was back into the water for the long swim home, where she’d switch from her fin to her tentacles. She didn’t transfer water like an octopus, but adjusted her coils to act more like fins, strengthening them. She was eating all the time now, sometimes raw fish she caught in the cold depths, sometimes the heavy bread that Toriah started baking, drenched in creamy butter.
Charibda, Gatha, and Ymir were eating like starving whales, yet Charibda was always hungry. Her muscles needed the nourishment, and she’d lost the little fat she’d had. More than how she looked, the mermaid loved the focus the training gave her. She liked the driving pressure to be better, faster, stronger, and it was a terrifying experience to face Ymir. For someone so big, he moved so fast, and then there was his mind—he had such a fearsome cleverness. Staying one step ahead of him was hard, if not impossible. He knew she could sprout tentacles at any time, and that her water attacks could drown him.
Charibda was working on adding Moons magic to her repertoire. She wanted to enhance her lightning strikes with her water, but she had to remember that when wet, she could be the victim of her own deadly attacks.
Sparring, she kept the lightning magic to a minimum because she didn’t want to hurt her team. However, there was something satisfying when she rammed her prokta trident into Ymir’s chest because he didn’t always win.
Even though Charibda had fought in family wars and had spent her entire life preparing for war, she sometimes felt unsure of herself.
Gatha would be there to talk with. Gatha admitted that she’d seen very little actual war. The she-orc had grown up fighting in the pits, from a young age, shockingly young. She’d started even before her womanhood, as a child, pummeling other children. It was Gruul culture. It was brutal. But it was better the orcs fought in their ritualistic games rather than storming Thera with their bloodthirsty armies. Which was what Gulnash wanted. If he won this tournament, he would win control of all three orc cities. Many might turn against him, but many more might not. And so, after the Gruul civil war, it was likely Four Roads would fall first and another age of conquest might begin.
No. They wouldn’t let that happen.
Sitting on her bed, Charibda heard knocking above her. Tori yelled down. “Hey, Ribby! You down there? You wanna come with me to taste sweet cream?”
Charibda had to roll her eyes. These land people were obsessed with the juices of their bovines. For the Aquaterreb, the milk of other animals wasn’t unknown but was an expensive delicacy. Perhaps it was because it was easier to milk
a cow than a whale. Far better than the milk was the flesh of a laughing eel, or the eggs of the ankleb fish, or crushed knab coral, mixed with sweet kelp.
Tori had been talking about her sweet cream recipe nonstop. The dwab and the fairy girl in her shop had been slaving away, trying to get it ready and perfected by the time the Kurzig Durgha started. Tori took to her obsessions honestly, and while she might be stressed to her breaking point, she was also smiling and polite.
The mermaid had no idea how the girl managed that. It was just another one of her lovely qualities. And so the mermaid thought it would be nice of her to help in any way she could. It was part of being a friend, and Charibda was learning that very important skill. Growing up as a princess, she now saw that many people in her life hadn’t had any real feelings for her. They pretended to be nice because Charibda had money, power, and pull.
Not her family—her father, her mothers, her sisters—those people had had real emotions for Charibda. But her supposed friends? No.
“Yes, Toriah!” Charibda called up. “I would love to try your creamy sweet.”
A pause from above. Then, “Uh, yeah, it’s sweet cream. But whatever. Jennybelle is out shopping in StormCry for a shelf. Not that we need another shelf, but you know that girl is obsessed. And Lillee is off working on her epic. Why someone would want to read about a cicada is beyond me. And Gatha and Ymir are off training at the Sunfire Field. But we kept your secret. So...yeah, you’re all I have left.”
“Well, if I wasn’t your first fucking choice, maybe I shouldn’t go then!” Charibda screamed up the stairs.” She caught herself. It was time to practice this humility thing. “No, I’m sorry, Tori. It’s fine. I’m coming. All fine. No worries. Just give me a moment.”
The mermaid stood and set her prokta trident next to her real one, which was a gift from her father. Borisib Delphino would’ve been proud of her, for fighting, for trying to make friends, for her whole life. Her father hadn’t been as bellicose as his brother. It was one of the reasons why her evil uncle had killed her father. Marrib Delphino wanted war. Borisib did not.